Mockingbird Drabbles
by Kerowyn6
Summary: Collection of the Mockingbird-themed English class creative writing assignments that I decided to post. Each is around 1,000 words. All credit for creative writing prompts goes to my English teacher, and the canon material goes to Harper Lee.
1. The Blanket

**In English class we're reading TKaM, and this was our assignment: choose one of the scenes and write it as though their mother was still alive, as much in the style of Harper Lee as possible. This is my result, which I decided to post.**

**Reviews are very much appreciated!**

**-Kero**

After dinner Mama pulled me into the kitchen, frowning at me.

"Am I in trouble, ma'am?" I asked.

She nodded. "After all I've done to raise you, you go and make a caricature of Mr. Avery for all the street to see." Her frown deepened. "Jean Louise Finch, I thought I'd taught you better than that."

I looked down at my shoes and mumbled an apology.

"And speak up like a lady. When you were a girl you could romp and play with the boys, but now you're growing up." I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off. "And don't you go telling me there ain't no problem with it. You'll be a young woman soon, and you want to find a good man who cares for you so you can settle down and raise a family. You don't want to end up like poor Mrs. Calsbury over on Seslie Street, do you?"

I blanched. Mrs. Calsbury was a young and quite pretty woman who, for one reason or another, had ended up marrying a man who was possibly Maycomb's meanest old gent. She spent most of her days in the house with the curtains drawn, but when she came to church she was always bundled up tight, scarves and everything, even in the middle of summer. When her scarf fell low you could see dark smudges on her skin. I once asked Papa if she was sick, and he just looked at me for a moment, then said: "No, Scout. But old Mr. Calsbury don't treat her too well." I immediately stated that we should help her escape, but he gave me another long look and said that we shouldn't drag her from her prison cell into the shark-infested ocean, not when she hadn't learnt to swim. I didn't know what swimming had to do with it, but that was the end of the conversation.

"Jean Louise?" my mother said sharply, "You don't want to end up like her, do you?"

"Nome," I said politely.

"Right." She leaned against the polished counter. "I don't know what to do with you, Jean Louise," she sighed. "Your papa gave you an education before you started school, and now you think you know everything and can run around like a boy. Dear Lord, you even wear overalls. I'll have to make you a couple skirts you can wear to school."

I paled at the thought.

"Please, ma'am. I'll- I'll clean all the dishes tonight if I can keep wearing my overalls!" Mama's eyebrows furrowed together.

"You'll have to do better than that, Jean Louise," she said. "You can wear them ghastly things for the rest of the break, but when you start school again you'll wear proper lady's attire and that's that. Now go and get ready for bed. I'll see you in the morning."

I slouched my way out of the room. When I reached the door, I heard Mama behind me call:

"And stand up straight!"

I stiffened my body and soldier-marched through the door.

I was woken around one in he morning by Mama shaking me. I groaned.

"Get up and get dressed," she whispered fiercely. "And wake your brother. Then get outside as fast as you can."

"What's going on?" I asked groggily.

"Fire at Ms. Maudie's."

That got me awake. I slipped on the first thing that met my groping fingers- my Sunday prayer dress- and trotted over to Jem's bed. I shook him hard.

"What time is it?" he said sleepily.

"Don't know. Get up and get dressed, there's a fire next door."

He pulled on an old shirt and a pair of trousers. Together, we went downstairs. Everything was eerily quiet. Outside, a crowd had gathered to watch the blaze that was Ms. Maudie's house. About two dozen men had formed a bucket chain, Papa among them.

"There you are," said Mama, walking hurriedly over to us. "I had to help get Maudie out. Just come stand over here, away from the fire."

"Is Ms. Maudie all right?" I asked anxiously.

"Yes, Scout. We got her out in time. Now just stay here. I know it's chilly, but if the fire spreads to our house you'll be glad you're freezing out here than burning in there."

We stood and watched the blaze for a while. Clutching my arms around the thin prayer dress, I saw Ms. Maudie talking with my mother. Her voice carried over to where we were standing.

"Don't worry about it, Celia. I didn't like that old barn anyway. It's time it was burned down."

Poor Ms. Maudie. I wondered what it would be like to have our house burn down. My thoughts drifted away...

* * *  
About a quarter of an hour later, they managed to put the fire out. What was left was a smoldering, smoking ruin. I looked up at Jem.

"Poor Ms. Maudie. She's lost everything. A woman's greatest pride is her home," he said dramatically.

I frowned.

"It ain't," I said. "I'm proud that I can beat Cecil Jacobs in the one hundred-meter sprint. And Mama's proud of helping those poor Negroes out by Carmy Way. She was saying just last month that she met a real nice Negro named Calpurnia over there. The lady had three kids and no husband and they were starving. But Mama said Calpurnia was an amazing cook and she wants to hire her. So you see, Jem, a home ain't a lady's pride. That's boy talk."

"Scout, I wasn't asking for a monologue." He paused, taking in my puzzled expression. "That's a negative statement," he said proudly.

"What is?"

"A monologue." He shivered. "It's cold. I should of thought to bring a blanket like you."

"I didn't bring a blanket. That's a monologue, right?"

"No, you did, and I know so on account of you having one wrapped around your shoulders all warm-like. That's a monologue. It's got to have... substance." He turned around, noticing I wasn't next to him anymore. "What's the matter, Scout?"

"Jem? I said, my voice rising. "I didn't bring this blanket out here!"

His eyes widened.

"The Radley Place!"

We spun around at the same time, looking across the street at the haunted house. It stared back at us.

"What do we do, Jem?" I shrieked.

"Get rid of it! Quick!"

"Get rid of what?" said Mama, coming up behind my brother.

"Nothing, Mama!" said Jem hurriedly. I tried to shove the offending bed sheet behind my back, but it was too late. The damage was done. Mama's eyes narrowed.

"Where'd you get that blanket, Jean Louise?" she said suspiciously.

I didn't know what Jem wanted me to say, so I stayed silent. Unfortunately, so did Jem.

"When I ask you a question, Jean Louise, you answer me. Understand?" Her eyes narrowed further.

"Yes'm," I mumbled.

"And you speak clearly."

"Yes, ma'am," I spoke up.

"So, where did you get that blanket?"

"I don't know, ma'am. We were standing in front of the Radley Place and I realized after the fire that I had it on." I looked up, panicking. "Do you think Boo put it there, ma'am? Do you think it's cursed? 'M I going to die, Mama?"

"Nonsense," Mama said brusquely. "Probably one of the neighbors noticed you were cold. And there ain't no such thing as curses." She threw her arms above her head and addressed the sky. "This is what comes of letting your husband raise your daughter for too long! Oh, Lord above, help me! Just fold it neatly and put it on our porch," she said, turning back to me."

I did as she said and the day after the blanket was gone. In its place was a smooth, perfect, fire-red pebble.


	2. The Plants

**So, I know originally this story was a oneshot with just the previous chapter, but then this assignment came up and I was really proud of it, so I'm posting it. Here was the assignment: write a journal entry or a short scene about either the Ewells, the Cunninghams or the Radleys.**

**Originally this ended on a happy note, but the plot kind of took charge of itself and forced me to end it angstily. Ish. Just know that it was not my original intention to make it sad.**

**Small disclaimer: I own Joyce. Nothing else. The songs mentioned are all real folk songs.**

**Enjoy!**

It was a rickety old house. The walls shook, and there were many permanent leaks in the ceiling. And occasionally, when she came home, Joyce would see Mayella crying in the corner. When that happened, the little girl would stand there for a moment and then creep silently away. After a while she became used to Mayella's tears.

So it was a surprise when she returned from snooping on the older children to find Mayella laughing, laughing so hard her body shook. Her big sister was standing over something in front of the miserable shack they called home, and her face was spread in a wide grin.

Cautiously, Joyce crept forward on cat's feet. The object of Mayella's joy was, she saw now, a potted plant. It was dirty, and some of its leaves had holes in them, but there was a single, budded flower poking its head up from atop the highest stem. Joyce gave a small gasp, and Mayella froze.

Peering around, the older girl noticed Joyce standing barefoot by the garbage heap. her shoulders lost some of their tension.

"Hey, Joyce." She gave a small smile. "I finally got it to bud. Do you like it?" she asked shyly.

For a moment Joyce didn't say anything, just stood there looking at the plant. Only when her sister's smile started to slip did Joyce speak up.

"'S beautiful, May-May," she said.

Mayella's face lit up once more.

"Now that I figured it out, I can grow more!" she exclaimed. "We can have our own little garden, right here in the front yard!"

"Won't Daddy mind?"

"Why should he?"

"'Dunno. When he's on the drink he ain't too with it. He might get mad 'n' start tearing things up," Joyce explained.

Her sister frowned.

"Maybe so. But there ain't nothing we can do about it."

The sixteen-year-old and the six-year-old sat in silence together and stared at the blossom.

**0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

Half a year later, there were a total of fourteen plants reaching for the sun in the garden by the garbage dump. When Joyce came back from her various daily activities, the two sisters would water them together and, because Mayella had read in an old gardening magazine she'd found that plants liked music, they would sing songs such as _Moonshiner_ and _Shady Grove_, and Joyce's favorite, _St James Infirmary_. The six year old would curl up next to the older girl and sit in the sunshine with her eyes closed as Mayella's somewhat nasal voice wove a story out of golden threads in the summer air. The birds chirped in the background. Joyce was happy.

"This is nice, Joy-Joy, isn't it?" Mayella said, half to herself.

"'Mm."

"Just you and me. No father beating us black and blue. No boys telling us what to do." She sighed. "I wish it could be like this all the time." They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the mockingbirds and finches in the trees.

Eventually Mayella spoke again. "It's nice to love someone like this. I'd like to have someone else. Someone special."

"'M not special?" asked Joyce groggily. Her sister laughed gently.

"You are. But not that way."

"What way?"

"You know. Romanticky." This got a grunt from Joyce. Mayella smiled slightly melancholily. "You'll get it someday, Joy-Joy. Right now boys're annoying, mm?"

There was no reply from Joyce. She was fast asleep in her sister's arms.

**0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

It ended at the bottom of a bottle. It always did. Ever since Mayella had been small, it had always ended with drink. This time, it had begun with several beers, and then when Mayella dared nurse the hope that it might stop there as well, her father had brought in the whiskey. He'd hit her a couple of times, and though it hurt, she could stomach beatings. But their father also beat Joyce. He broke her arm. The little girl was in the back room, not making a noise in her agony.

And then their father had staggered out front and picked up a plant. He'd stood there swaying for a minute, drooling slightly, and then he'd ripped out the roots and thrown the flower on the garbage dump. He'd proceeded to wreck the entire garden, all the hours Joyce and Mayella had spent weeding, rearranging, and most importantly, the flowers. When the man had finally passed out on the kitchen floor, Mayella had gone into the back room and gathered up Joyce in her arms. The girl was deathly pale from shock, but Mayella knew that she would feel better if she were out of the house. She carried her all the way to the nearest corn field, and they sat together as the sun went down, shivering and miserable but together. Mayella sang _St James Infirmary._


End file.
